


Up the Steps

by Gnattynat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF John, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Pining, Pining Sherlock, Why Did I Write This?, bamf john comes later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3223439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnattynat/pseuds/Gnattynat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leaving and being left - Sherlock deals with emotions.</p><p>He walked up the steps slowly. For all that he was a proper genius, he could be incredibly thick sometimes. Emotions. Sentiment. It would be the end of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving...

He walked up the steps slowly. For all that he was a proper genius, he could be incredibly thick sometimes. Emotions. Sentiment. It would be the end of him.

 

He took a deep breath before preparing to exit the stairwell. He had just pushed away his only friend, and John had left in a rush of anger and hurtful words. It was what he deserved. Sherlock knew he was not a good friend by any stretch of the definition, and to be honest he was surprised John had lasted so long.

It had hurt much more than he had anticipated, especially to have John spit, “ You machine!” as he left. Sherlock’s very insides had twisted and there was a deep pain in his chest as he struggled to keep his mask up.

But he knew it had to be done. _Friends protect people._ John was too important to him; he couldn't bear seeing anything like the pool again. Moriarty’s words flowing from that kind and honest mouth had flayed him inside, and then seeing the Semtex covering him under that coat? No. He couldn't focus like he needed to if he kept thinking of that.

He took all those thoughts, all these _feelings_ , and locked them in an empty room in the basement of his mind palace. He had to try to focus on what was coming next. He would do his best to be the best friend he could to John, using John’s own definition of friendship. _Put it away_. Moriarty had to be stopped, and, with a lingering sense of unease, Sherlock stepped onto the roof.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being left...

He walked up the steps slowly. For all that he was a proper genius, he could be incredibly thick sometimes. Emotions. Sentiment. It would be the end of him.

 

He walked into 221B and the first thing he saw was John’s chair. Oh, how it mocked him. With heavy steps he crossed the room and curled up into it, Belstaff and all. He could smell John Watson in the worn fabric. His eyes became wet, but he didn't care anymore. He wasn't going to be missed. They probably didn't even realise he left early.

The reception was probably wrapping up about now if it wasn't already over, he mused, thinking back on the wedding. With a bittersweet smile, he thought of his revelation in the midst of his best man speech. He was desperately in love with Dr. John Hamish Watson, MD. Captain Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, RAMC. John, his best friend.

Best friend was never a title that Sherlock himself thought he would have, and he knew boyfriend or husband was well out of the question. Not that it mattered, because his best friend and only love was now newly married to a woman. He was straight, _not gay_ , and in love with Mary Morst- Mary Watson, and at the thought Sherlock’s heart tore itself into pieces.

 _He was only ever with me for the excitement and danger that the cases brought us,_ Sherlock thought. _If he saw me like this, crying over him, he would be disgusted. He doesn't like me when sentiment and emotion rule me. Baskerville proved that. He saw me start losing control, and he left._

With that thought, his mind flashed back to just before he left the wedding. He had been overwhelmed there at the end, trying to deal with the aching in his chest after saying they wouldn’t need him around anymore. And at the glimpse of wetness in Sherlock’s eyes, John had made fun of the dancing lessons in 221B and escaped quickly with Mary.

Those dances in the privacy of their old flat had meant the world to Sherlock, though he hadn't been able to pinpoint exactly why being in John’s arms had been so wonderful until today’s revelation. Sherlock’s secret passion for dancing had not been the only thing so fulfilling and right about those lessons. Being held by John had been so perfect, and John had thrown it in his face with a gay joke at the slightest sign of an emotional break.

He looked at the chair he was curled up in through the tears blurring his vision, and made a decision. He would try to be the sociopath John wanted him to be, void of _emotion_ and _sentiment_. Those were loathsome words, and, in his experience, they only caused pain.

But as he stroked the armrest of his former flatmate’s preferred seat, he knew he couldn't lock away his love if this was out in the open every day. It was empty of its owner, and that had already been killing him slowly. He was going to have to move it out of his workspace, it was too painful to keep here. Maybe to 221C? John’s room? His bedroom.

But before he locked away the chair and his feelings as best as he could, he was going to let it all out tonight. He rose shakily and took out the little box with his syringe and emergency stash. Making his way back to the armchair, he threw off his greatcoat and suit jacket and tore at his shirtsleeve. There was no one who cared enough to stop him tonight. To that end, he sobbed into the tartan blanket hanging over the chair’s back, and felt the pain disappear slightly with the flick of the needle.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving...

He walked up the steps slowly. For all that he was a proper genius, he could be incredibly thick sometimes. Emotions. Sentiment. It would be the end of him.

 

As he climbed into the aircraft, he sat on the side furthest from John. He couldn’t keep his sociopathic persona up and his eyes clear from tears if he watched the love of his life cling to his murderous wife as Sherlock left to die for John. And after what happened on the tarmac, he was already breaking down. He had come so close to admitting his dark and forbidden secret. The words had been in his mouth, on his tongue, but then he had looked up at John. John, who was closing himself off, wearing a look that seemed to say, “Don’t do this. I don’t want to know.” The confession had died on his lips.

John only liked him for the danger and adrenaline, and not at all for sentiment. Love and emotions, when it came to John, were Mary’s area, not Sherlock’s. So he covered up his ‘I love you’ and turned it into a joke.

“Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.”

“It’s not.”

“It was worth a try.”

“We’re not naming our daughter after you.”

“I think it could work.”

In the midst of his pain, he found a ray of hope. He got to tell John that he wished that there was a Sherlock Watson in the world for John to love and care for. He let out a breath at the memory. John had looked at him questioningly, and Sherlock knew the message had broken through a little with the added blessing of making John laugh for the last time.

The plane began taxiing down the runway, and Sherlock started compiling his last memories of John in a new room in his mind palace. When the time came, Sherlock was determined not to die in the dungeon with Moriarty, but in this happier room with John and his happy memories, the sounds of John’s laughter surrounding them and his feelings of love bursting from all the boxes he locked them in.

He was starting to tear up, contemplating the real death awaiting him outside that mind palace room. He would likely be cold, alone, without a friend, without a love. No, that wasn’t true. He had his love, and his love was happy. He shot Magnussen in front of witnesses so John couldn’t be blamed. He pushed the woman he couldn’t quite hate back into John’s arms so John wouldn’t be lonely. He wanted John to be happy above all else. He had done his best to ensure that his love would have his dream of a wife and family, of danger and adrenaline, of a best friend saying goodbye properly and leaving his life so it wouldn’t get messed up again.

Six months and who knows... John would think Sherlock was forever out on cases and happy in exile, like he had mistakenly thought Sherlock’s first exile had been. John would never be hurt because of Sherlock again, and he would be happy. He-

“Sir?”

Startled out of his thoughts and tears, Sherlock looks round to find a man with a telephone in his hand.

“It’s your brother.” 

Trying to pull himself together inwardly, cursing himself for getting so emotional so quickly, Sherlock takes the phone, and his life changes once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the angst, it just happened. Unbetaed as of right now, let me know if you see anything! :)  
> -Nattie


End file.
